


A Dance of Desires

by Majik724



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Don’t Judge, Elia Martell Lives, F/M, Incest, Lyanna Stark Lives, Multi, Parent/Child Incest, Rhaenys Targaryen Lives, Sibling Incest, all the incest, just read it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 09:58:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majik724/pseuds/Majik724
Summary: Rhaegar is dead, along with his son and brother, on a trip to bring dragons back to the world. The only living Targaryen male, has been living in Winterfell ever since his younger sister was born. The timing of this trip seemed odd, for Jon had just done the very thing his father set out to do.By complete accident. And now he was to become king. On top of everything else, he had to weather the storm that came from what he and his mother had done. And his desire to do it again.





	1. Chapter 1

“Remember to keep your eyes forward Jon. We have to look strong.”  Her voice seemed to come from everywhere, a development that he’d come to dislike. _Almost_ as much as what was to happen within the fortnight.

 

“Yes, your grace.” His reply had the effect of getting their guard to raise brows, though they said nothing.

 

Watching the gates to King’s Landing open, Jon couldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else in the known world less than where he currently was. This was only partly to blame with the city and it’s smell.

 

Jon gave a sharp whistle, a signal that was met with a pair of howls, and four adolescent roars in the sky. He allowed himself to gaze upward as the shadows circled the incoming party. They were beautiful, in a magical and absolutely deadly way.

 

The dragons return to the world had been an accident, one that Jon could not recall in its entirety. A... _mistake_ … as his mother called it, followed by a heated discussion, and then his fall. When he awoke, it was to the sound of several cracks as his body floated in near boiling waters.

 

Queen Lyanna had forgotten about their argument as she watched the cut to his head bleed like nothing she’d ever seen. The springs turned red for only a few moments, Jon’s blood acting like a moth towards a flame and being drawn towards the eggs.

 

Two males, and two females had hatched that day, each named for a deceased member of his family or one his family had bonded to. He had thought long and hard on who in his family would take to which dragon, if any did.

 

With scales of scarlet, along with her temperament, Jon had named her Meleys. It seemed fitting, given that the previous dragon of said name had been ridden by Rhaenys Targaryen. His sister was much the same.

 

Calm unless provoked, cunning in a way that most people wouldn’t expect.

 

The other female, he had named Rhaella. The stories of his paternal grandmother mirrored what he could remember of her as a young child. The queen was a sweet woman, caring, tolerant, and soft spoken.

 

In the time since her hatching, the golden dragon was much the same, or as similar as a dragon could be he supposed. She liked to stay near him whenever possible, only making a sound in response to him unless she felt threatened. When that happened, she proved to be the loudest of the four.

 

Jon, his mother, and the much unneeded guard passed through the gate, with Jon still reflecting. He missed the sound of beating hooves in the distance.

 

If he hadn’t already named his direwolf, Jon would have named the dragon with black scales Ghost. He had instead decided on Nightwing. Honestly, Jon felt that he’d gotten lucky with their temperaments with these three. The membrane of his wings were grey, much like the typical stark eyes. If he wasn’t snipping at his brother, then he was soaring in the skies.

 

The last one, Aerion, was the wild child of the bunch. Scales of an emerald green, Jon couldn’t help but feel that it was fitting, as Aerion got envious of anything his siblings touched or looked at. When they had food, he tried to steal it. When they seemingly ignored him, he nipped and screeched.

 

Aerion made up for all the hassle the others lacked. It was fortunate that Jon was able to quell the creature with a stern look and a few words. All it had taken was a growl towards his cousin Arya, and after Jon smacked him over the head, the dragon knew who was in charge… for now.

 

The guard on the gates turned towards the sound of what could only be a stampede of horses, the two kingsguard that had travelled with Jon and Lyanna glancing around, though the gates covered anything to be seen.

 

Jon could tell that his direwolf Ghost, and Winter, his mother’s, did not appreciate the sewer line just on the other side. They huffed and scrunched their noses from the overpowering odor.

 

“Your grace, perhaps we should hold-” Whatever Ser Barristan was saying, Jon didn’t hear it. He was lost in his brooding, anything to keep from thinking about _why_ they had come to King’s Landing.

 

Ghost had been an albino, the runt of the litter. Though with how Jon tended to him, Ghost was well on his way to catching up to, and surpassing his siblings still in Winterfell. His friend never made a sound unless there was a threat. Ghost had never barked or whined, even when playing.

 

Theon had likened the two, Jon and Ghost, saying that they both were lone wolves by nature. The snobby Ironborn hostage took any chance he got to rub something in Jon’s face. Though only one insult had worked.

 

The unwanted prince, exiled prince, half prince in regard to his height at the time. The one time Theon had actually gotten on his nerves and received any blowback, was when the words _whorespawn_ slipped passed his lips.

 

A broken nose and a blackened eye were not nearly where Jon would have stopped. He could still remember the look on her face as he raged, ranting about how Theon could never dream of having a woman as wonderful as her in any part of his life.

 

Looking back, that night was probably what had been the start of the current issue between Jon and his mother.

 

Taking in a breath, he released it slowly and silently, not wanting anyone to be aware of anything that may or may not be on his mind.

 

His mask was firmly in place, hiding any emotion that might have been seen, and Jon allowed himself a moment to take in his surroundings, his senses opening.

 

“YOUR GRACE!”

 

“JON!”

 

Voices yelled from behind him, frantic, worried sounds that forced adrenaline through his body in an instant. Snapping his head to the side, a thunderous sound that spelled danger echoed through the city entrance.

 

Jon looked right, seeing nothing but worried faces and people running to clear the roadway.

 

Time seemed to crawl as he went to look to the other side. Two colts whisked by, just barely missing his own mare. She was just as startled as he, and reared back. Jon barely managed to hold on as another horse _did_ manage to swipe alongside them.

 

His eyes widened as he caught sight of it. The road was only wide enough in this area for them to fit two-wide, and judging by the line and dust in the air, Jon had to guess another 30-40 horses were stampeding directly towards him.

 

An elderly man was clipped, falling to the ground in the path being swallowed up. The crunch that followed seemed to blare louder than everything else in that brief instant. Jon knew what it was, had seen the blood spatter coat the dusty air red. That man would never get back to his feet.

 

There wasn’t enough time to get to the other side, the only choices that Jon immediately came up with were either to back up, or run alongside them until he could-

 

“Whoa!”  Something must have spooked his mount from behind, she kicked out behind her blindly, setting Jon off balance and eating any available time he had to maneuver out of the way.

 

She settled back onto all fours just as the next pair were blazing by, this time the closest of which was saddled. Holding onto the reins tightly, Jon whispered a prayer he knew would go unheard, hoping he’d not be unseated and thrown into the street. To be killed _now_ of all times would be disastrous for his family.

 

His thoughts proved true.

 

Jon felt the leather slide against his shin, and the pull on his leg before the world tilted.  The building crowd watched as the stirrups of his horse and the one racing by got tangled. His saddle shifted too quickly for him to adjust.

 

As Jon fell to the right, his left foot kicked his horse in the side.

 

She bolted, taking off at a brisk pace with the others, leaving Jon to dangle to the side with his head only a few inches from the ground. He could only watch as over one hundred hooves stomped closer and closer, each one able to bring him eternal darkness.

 

_Protect her_

 

It was the first and only thought to come to mind. His mother would chase after him no matter the cost to herself. Lyanna Targaryen, his beautiful, strong willed, compassionate mother. The two of them could bicker like children all they wanted, but each knew that when it mattered, they had at least one person in their corner.

 

One of the hooves smacked the back of his head as it passed, his vision blurring and fading quickly. Somehow, he would make it back. He _knew_ it. The only thing he cared about right then, was making sure that _she_ made it too.

 

Ghost and Winter would see to it, and he knew at least two of the dragons would follow his request as well. Meleys and Aerion were likely to watch her, but would do nothing if she came to be in danger.

 

“JON!”

 

His eyes closed, the throbbing in his skull beating to the rhythm of his mount, and the darkness took over.

 

**-o-**

 

It had now been several weeks since the news of Rhaegar’s ship meeting a deadly end. Several weeks, and yet, the pain had not started to subside. She wondered if it ever would.

 

For Elia, her daughters, and Daenerys, things may never heal completely.

 

The queen did not weep for her husband, not after what he’d done to Lyanna and Jon. How his obsession with prophecy drove him to unstable decisions.

 

Had Rhaegar not considered the risks? To travel with something as volatile as _wildfire_ , andnow her son was dead. Rhaegar, Aegon, Viserys, Ser Gerold and Ser Jaime. All dead, burned to nothing at sea over _rumors_ of dragon eggs hot to the touch on Dragonstone.

 

The sheer stupidity of her husband escaped her in this instance. Usually, Elia could pick apart his reasoning, thin in substance as it had grown to be over the years. But in this, she found none.

 

There was still hope yet, for Rhaegar had left out one key piece that just may be able to keep the kingdoms from another revolution.

 

The wife and son he had cast aside the moment her third child, Visenya, had been born. The pregnancy had nearly killed her, just as it had been with Aegon. Let it not be said that Elia of Dorne was weak willed.

 

Dorne was the only kingdom as a whole that would accept a woman as it’s ruler, the others would scoff at the concept, especially when it came to the iron throne. But Jon… that boy was special, just as her own son had been. Though admittedly, it was in a much different way.

 

Rhaenys, her eldest, squeezed her hand as Elia felt the tear slip from her eye and down her cheek.

 

Turning, Elia gave her a weary smile, thankful for the support. Looking over the city from the Red Keep, the pair were soon joined by the last two Targaryens. Daenerys held a strong grip on her emotions, but the red in her eyes was unmistakable. Visenya on the other hand, wept openly as she ran towards her mother and sister.

 

“Even as he was, I would never have wished this upon Viserys.” Dany whispered. It was clear that her statement was more to herself than anything.

 

Viserys… The thought had crossed her mind not an insignificant amount of times, for some sort of accident to have him meeting the gods. But now, she couldn’t help but agree with her good sister.

 

The heat of the summer sun was normally something that Elia relished, today it was the same as it had been ever since learning of Aegon. It was a reminder of how he’d died. In a burst of flame.

 

“Mother, I miss father and Egg.” Her youngest seemed to want nothing more than to be as close as physically possible, not that Elia would mind in the least.

 

“I do too sweetling.”  She whispered into the long silvery hair. Many had been surprised with learning of her carrying a third child, and more so when Visenya came into the world looking like the Targaryens of old. Some had even mentioned she was like the Visenya of old come again.

 

Elia hated that sentiment to a degree. Her daughter was not going to be some wife for duty. Being the youngest of Rhaegar’s children, she should be able to marry for love. Though now, she wasn’t sure what to think.

 

Visenya was still a tad young for such thoughts in her eyes, being the age of six and ten. Elia would not even entertain such thoughts for another year. That was late by almost every standard, no matter the kingdom, but she would not budge on this.

 

“Senny, we need to be strong. Jon will be along soon, and he will be worried enough for our well-being.” Rhaenys continued to be the pillar between the young ones. But she wasn’t wrong.

 

Jaehaerys Targaryen, or Jon, as Lyanna had taken to calling him after Rhaegar’s… change in tune, would be arriving this day or the early into the morning. Elia had made it a point to express her thoughts on her late husband’s actions by taking her children to meet with Jon and Lyanna as often as possible.

 

Aegon had not been able to see his brother as often as the girls, being groomed as crown prince as he was, his responsibilities had reached further. The situation had done nothing to taint how Jon and Lyanna treated them, herself included.

 

At least once a year, they would travel and spend a moon’s turn at the minimum, spending time together. Winterfell, Summerhall, Dragonstone, the location varied.

 

Each and every time she saw the “exiled queen” as some whispered, she was reminded of Rhaegar’s biggest mistake. Jon was a son to be proud of. He did not have an inflated ego, he was polite, always wanted to do this thing or that for any of his family. Aegon was having trouble sharpening the new blade he’d been gifted, Jon showed him what he was doing wrong, even though Aegon was older.

 

Dany had been cold to him for a time, when Viserys had dug his claws into her and convinced her that the Northern blood made him lesser. That had only lasted a few days upon the beginning of that visit.

 

Rhaenys was the first of the children to notice the pain in his eyes when they separated. He had family in Winterfell that loved him, but a Targaryen alone was a horrid thing. Lyanna had the name, and Jon loved and respected her unconditionally, but there was something in the blood.

 

Gods, she’d never seen Rhaenys so lost in her thoughts than that trip back to King’s Landing. Her eldest had brought out the Dornish side of her upon that next meeting. Jon had never seen it coming. The Dornish loved freely, and they loved fiercely.

 

From what Rhaenys had said, there was nothing of concern that had happened between them. But Elia did wonder about that. Jon had a habit of being awake at hours that he should have spent asleep, and Rhaenys had gone to “smother the sadness out of him”.

 

What that looked like in front of the gathered family, was Rhaenys spending any possible moment in contact or near contact with him. Upon their leave, Jon didn’t seem as downtrodden as before. That solemn smile seemed just a little brighter, and Rhaenys was clearly quite pleased with herself.

 

Elia let go of her youngest, facing out the window once more. She wondered what the people were whispering down there. Rhaegar had been beloved by many, even these last years.

 

She could not help but squint and peer off into the distance then, as something caught her eye.

 

Wings flapped, and Elia thought it to merely be a large bird, closer to the keep than was obvious. Then another appeared, and another, and another. Four in total, flying in a lazy circle and larger than any bird she’d ever seen.

 

Her heart skipped when she caught sight of the tails, and realized how large these creatures must be through the shadows cast over the hills beyond the city.

 

A gasp came from her right.

 

And the screeching roars with a pair of howls followed.

 

Even though they hadn’t been around for over a century, there was no way to confuse what those creatures in the sky were.

 

“Dragons…” The voice which spoke in pure awe was Dany, having held the creatures in such high regard for all her life.

 

A thought ran through her mind then, just as she saw Rhaenys’ eyes narrow. Her daughter must have been thinking something along the same lines.

 

For just a brief moment, there was a hope that Rhaegar’s ship hadn’t been burned and the ashes washed away. He’d left to try and bring dragons back to their family, and now there were four circling ever closer.

 

But the size of them… those weren’t newly hatched creatures. While probably not nearly full grown, they were still a considerable size, larger than a dog, yet not as big as a horse.

 

“How did he….” She heard Rhaenys whisper to herself, confirming that her daughter had followed her own line of thought. There was only one other Targaryen who could have done such a thing, one that they were expecting to arrive anytime now.

 

They could see the gates start to open. From this high, it wasn’t easy to make out any features of a person, only the vague figure of one. They heard the hoof beats, and the gates continuing to open. By the sound of it, if the guard was preparing to escort Jon and Lyanna to the keep, they were going overboard. It sounded as though every horse within the city was making its way rather quickly.

 

When the first horse passed by their view, saddled and riderless, no alarms were raised in their minds. It wasn’t until a figure atop a horse continued into the city and had been swept away by the stampede that something was noted to be wrong.

 

Movement by the gate was all in a flurry, while Elia pondered what had happened and why. With how Rhaegar and Aegon had been, how she knew Jon and Lyanna to still be, she hoped that it was neither of them. She voiced none of this, rather waiting for a guard or servant to make an announcement before anything else.

 

_Why were the horses in a position to storm the gate in the first place?_

 

This was one such thought that came up often as they waited, the girls still watching the dragons with awed faces. Only Rhaenys would occasionally glance back down to the gate, hoping to catch a glimpse of the last living members of their family.

 

**-o-**

 

“Dammit Barry! Put me DOWN!”

 

Ser Barristan had been forced to use methods most disparaging, in order to get Lyanna _not_ to chase after her son. She beat her fists on his armor plated back, sobs in her voice and a shake to her entire body.

 

“Once again my Queen, I cannot. Those horses should _not_ have been able to race through the city like that. Until we know for certain that it was an accident and not some sort of attack, we will keep you safe no matter the methods necessary.”

 

In her horror of seeing her son lost in the sea of muscle and bone, Lyanna hadn’t even considered the reasons behind it. She gasped and stopped beating on her guard just as they entered a new room of the keep. The one where Elia and the rest were gathered, looking on in fascination of Lyanna being carried in.

 

Winter and Ghost left her view from behind Ser Barristan, coming to the front when they caught the scents of people in the room, making sure to keep her safe.

 

Just like she knew Jon would have communicated. She would forever be jealous of his ability as a warg. She loved the wolves dearly, but Jon was able to speak to them like no man had ever been able to speak to a wolf before.

 

She heard an intake of breath, though she couldn’t see it.

 

Ser Barristan halted his steps, his free hand coming to the side of her hips by his head, and lifted her from his shoulder and placed her feet on the ground. Lyanna could hear the low growls as she turned, trying to will away the tears.

 

She was met with the sight of the two wolves pointed low and threateningly towards Elia, Rhaenys, Visenya and Daenerys.

 

“Winter, Ghost, it’s okay. They are family.” The grey and white pair took a few seconds before they complied, standing to full height. Lyanna had shared with Elia, the events of finding the pups beside a dead mother, but they had yet to see any of them. That was 3 years ago.

 

Their canine companions now stood at the height of a small horse, topping Visenya and Daenerys by an inch, leaving Elia and Rhaenys with two or three inches to spare.

 

With no more concern for the safety of her family present in the keep, Lyanna turned back to Barristan with watery eyes and a pleading command at her lips.

 

“Find him Ser Barristan. _Please_ , find my son. I can’t lose him too.” Just saying the words had Lyanna losing the fight against controlling her terror and anxiety.

 

“This is all my fault-” She gripped onto the kingsguard, looking for anything solid and _real_ to hold on to. “-If I hadn’t…” She paused, continuing the thought in her mind but not letting it be vocalized.

 

“He would have noticed, and he’d have come to the keep with me.” No one knew what she was talking about. Lyanna kept rambling something to the same effect until Ser Barristan stopped her.

 

“Your grace, over half the city guard is searching for him. Every hole, nook and cranny will be scoured. You have my word.” The man in the white cloak did not hold all of that usual smile as he said this. Lyanna knew that Barristan cared for Jon, was likely to be more worried than was necessary for someone in his position.

 

Ser Gerold, for as serious as he took his job, only held Dany and Rhaegar in the same way. It wasn’t that he disliked Jon, it was just that the man wasn’t as kind in general. It seemed that level of kindness was reserved for those who looked like the Targaryens he had served for so long.

 

“Mother Lya… Where’s Jon? What happened?” Lyanna paused, and looked to the speaker.

 

She found Visenya with a quivering lip, and suddenly wished she had kept her composure, but knew that would have been an impossible task. Behind the small framed girl, Elia, Rhaenys and Daenerys all held questioning and concerned eyes.

 

A new voice came from the open corridor, one that hadn’t been there before.

 

“Oh, Queen Lyanna, you’re here. I had hoped not to miss the entrance of yourself and Prince Jaehaerys.” Light brown hair with soft curls, wide and innocent looking brown eyes that turned near gold in the sun being cast through the window, Margaery Tyrell looked to the Stark Queen with a sweet smile.

 

But there was something in her eyes that gave her intentions away. Something hungry, striving for power to call her own.

 

“ _Don’t_ call him that.” Lyanna hissed, feeling her hackles rise. The same could be said of the direwolves in the room, which Margaery had not seen until that moment.

 

She hated that she’d given in to Rhaegar and given Jon a Targaryen name. Blinded by love, she had given him everything she had to give. The only part she would now regret, was not seeing what had driven Rhaegar from the beginning.

 

“His name is Jon.” Lyanna straightened, correcting her tone to be like that of her father and brother Ned. When she employed that tactic, none besides Elia and Jon could read her emotions.

 

Margaery stood still, eyes shifting from the second queen to the wolves.

 

With a command, Lyanna calmed the wolves, getting the rose of highgarden to release a breath of relief. Dying now would ruin her chances that were _so_ very close. Lyanna, Elia, Rhaenys, and Dany understood that. None were too keen on her being successful.

 

It was only Lyanna that had any confidence that Jon was not likely to entertain the idea _anytime_ soon. Though the reason behind it didn’t make her feel better about anything.

 

“My apologies, I did not know he preferred to be called something else.” Margaery gave a stuttered curtsy, her nerves still running high from the wolves.

 

It was then that Elia seemed to have felt she waited long enough, and with large strides covered the distance between them, before wrapping her arms around Lyanna.

 

The embrace was welcomed and returned in equal measure, the two women holding on with everything they had. In the face of hardship and tragedy, where else would one look if not to their family?

 

“Jon was at the head of the party, wasn’t he?”  Elia asked, running her hands softly through the dark hair of someone that had become like a sister to her. Lyanna nodded, and Elia gripped her tighter, feeling a pit of worry widen and deepen in her stomach.

 

“He’ll be okay. You’ll see. Jon will come walking through those doors and you can hold him again soon.”

 

Lyanna released a laughing sob that Elia thought to mean she found comfort in the words. She was not entirely correct.

 

“He hates me now. Hasn’t called me mother in several moons, only ‘your grace’.” The laugh had been of a self-deprecating nature.

 

This surprised Elia, though she didn’t believe for one second that Jon truly hated his mother. No, what surprised her was that he had referred to his own mother by title and nothing more. They had so close the last time they were all together.

 

“What happened Lya?”  Elia prodded, unable to help herself. But Lyanna only shook her head in the crook of her neck. She couldn’t say it.

 

How could she possibly tell Elia what she’d done? That the years without the touch of a man after being so explosively introduced to it had rendered her will as fragile as glass.

 

The days before it happened, Lyanna had been feeling rather down. She wished that Rhaegar had never pushed them to the side as he did, forcing her hand and moving to Winterfell. Jon and seen this, and took to doting on her with more care than was usual.

 

He had been teased, she knew, by some of the men at arms and the likes of Theon Greyjoy.

 

 _“Running to your mother like some whelp fresh from the cradle.”_ The guard had been ignored by Jon.

 

 _“If the faith had any balls, they would have declared you a bastard. Your mother a whore, and you a whorespawn. Lucky for you that the prick to get her pregnant happened to be the bloody crown prince. It’s what I would have done.”_  Theon had been beaten black and bloody.

 

The way Jon looked after her, with soft and tender touches, grey eyes with that violet hue so worried and caring. Even through her solemn haze, her heart had swelled with love.

 

It continued that way for a fortnight.

 

The peak came when he’d found her crying over a memory in the godswood. Lost in her revery, Lyanna had confused her son’s embrace for that of another. She acted upon it.

 

The moon had been high, shining down upon the red leaves of the weirwood leaving a crimson light to surround them. Jon held her so tight, so secure. It hadn’t become apparent that the person to find her had been him… not until it was too late and her mind was already set.

 

Her kiss was like fire, searing and hot and demanding. Seated upon his lap, Jon hadn’t been in a position to do anything that wouldn’t risk harming her either physically or emotionally. And her son loved her too much for that.

 

He’d been swept up in her storm of emotion, carried along for the ride.

 

 _And what a ride it had been_. Even afterwards, she could not help but sing praises to her sons ability.

 

The bliss in the touch she imagined to be that of another clouded the memory, and the next thing she knew, they were naked and she was setting herself down onto him. Her hand clutched into his dark curls, Lyanna had pressed him into her chest, moaning delightfully as he took her peaks into his mouth.

 

Her eyes had opened as the climax built, that twisting, knotting, surging feeling that tingled from her toes and all the way to her hair. In the red lit night, the dark curls did not set her mind straight.

 

The scent of northern ale carried to her nose. Then those eyes, a mix of herself and the one she had so stupidly imagined herself with, looked up to her. Her vision was stolen by a blinding feeling that spread through every fiber of her being, a scream of pleasure wanting to flow from her lips that was taken in a kiss.

 

And then he had flipped her on to her back, and she could see him more completely. With nothing but love in his eyes, Jon drove into her, one hand at her hip and the other in her hair. He would dip down and kiss at her neck, his movements more agile than anything Rhaegar had ever displayed, pushing against that spot that made her breath hitch each and every time.

 

Rhaegar was known as an agile man, graceful with a blade and a lance both, hard to tire from the bottomless hours spent training.  But Jon… he was something else entirely. There was no sweat on his brow, no harsh intake of breath that spoke of a building weariness.

 

His only limitation seemed to be that of his first time laying with a woman. An experience that she, _his mother_ , had taken and seemed incapable of stopping herself from seeing to its conclusion.

 

She had seen that light another time before he even appeared close, likely the result of some drinking with his cousin. His hips had hammered into her at a pace that left Lyanna biting the base of her thumb, her mind still able to be aware of _where_ they were, but not at all caring of the _what_ or _who_.

 

As he drew closer to his finish, that same feeling was building. Lyanna had _wanted_ it, so badly that she was almost ready to beg for more. Instead, she had stolen his face between her hands and kissed him hard.

 

Her vision was lost when she felt him spill inside of her, that final climax making her spasm and writhe beneath him.

 

How could she possibly tell Elia that she had fucked her son?

 

Worse yet, was that even though it hadn’t been something she set out to do… she didn’t regret it. That was the basis for the argument and self-loathing which had spurned their argument.

 

She had pushed Jon away, because if he ever made to share a moment like that again, Lyanna wasn’t sure she would turn him away.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Jon awoke with a start, his head throbbing, particularly in the back. It took a moment before bits and pieces came back to him. Once it had, Jon started surveying his surroundings.

 

Darkness had covered the city, only sparse torchlight letting him see anything at the moment. Wherever he was at the moment, it stunk more than at the gate.  _ A lot more _ . Knowing that Southern nobles were more prone to holding themselves on a physical and metaphorical pedestal compared to the smallfolk, Jon figured he had to be close to, or in, Flea Bottom. The poorest of the poor when it came to King’s Landing residents.

 

“Oi, you there!”  His vision swam as someone yelled.

 

“You can’t sleep in the fuckin’ street you shit covered weasel.” The darkness mixed with the orange of the dim lighting, and the gold of the man’s city watch armor turned green.

 

Jon looked towards the voice, but he could not make sense of what he was seeing or hearing. The pain in his head with its rhythmic pulses of pain, the dizziness and nausea, it kept his mind from being able to clear.

 

When his only movement was to sit up from whatever he was laying on, the guard took offense. His stomach lurched as he was quickly and roughly brought to his feet by golden mail covered hands.

 

Trying to look at the man, Jon could only see a face morphing. The eyes kept changing size and position, further apart, closer together, down below the nose and on to the upper lip, then to the tip of his forehead. The only part of the man’s face that he could see clearly was his mouth. Thin, angry lips with horrid brown teeth, jagged from some of them being broken.

 

Wine, Jon could identify the scent of a disgustingly cheap vintage on his breath. Something one might find in a run-down brothel, a place that often catered to people like Theon. Cheap, bitter, egotistical men that needed to feel superior to others at all times.

 

“What is your name boy?” The angry mouth bit out.

 

Jon was having trouble placing the sounds his ringing ears were hearing, with words that held meaning in his mind. Several heavy swallows were needed just to make the bile wanting to pass through his mouth go back down.

 

“J...Jon.” It was all he managed to get out.

 

The angry mouth snarled.

 

“You’re a fuckin’ peasant then? Well… Jon, you’re impeding our search for  _ King Jaehaerys _ . I don’t think either queen would like for you to be the reason we don’t find’em before some sellsword thinks himself the next best thing.”

 

The queens? Peasant? Sellsword?  It was irritating, the way his head was still so cloudy. Nothing made sense. All he knew was that he had to go uphill. Red, white, black, purple, brown,  _ grey _ . Especially grey. He knew he needed to find these colors, but nothing more than that.

 

“I.. Am.” His words stuttered as the air in his lungs vacated when his stomach lurched again. He wouldn’t be able to keep the contents inside much longer.

 

“Tell ya what. Since I’m feeling generous, I’ll push you back to whatever alley you call home, just point towards it.” The man’s angry thin lips and rotten teeth curled into a malicious smile.

 

Jon focused as much as he could.  Point home. He had to point towards his destination. His swirling grey/violet eyes bounced around, trying to pick out the colors he needed to go to.

 

There!

 

In the distance, lit by many more sources, was a tall structure of  _ red _ . He could see the towers stretching into the inky black night, being swallowed by it much like his higher functions.

 

Shakily, slowly, Jon raised his hand with a finger extended. Jon pointed towards the structure, the Red Keep. More specifically, though he was not too familiar with the layout of said structure, he’d pointed towards Maegor’s Holdfast. The area of the keep where the royal family chambers were located.

 

Those morphing eyes, a deep muddled brown Jon could now tell, widened as the guard’s mind raced to connect the dots.  

 

For the guard who considered himself to be one of the more upstanding members of the gold cloaks, though that wasn’t saying much, this was a prime opportunity. He would finally have that moment to shine. Janos Slynt, the commander of the city watch, had said there were rumors floating around of the happenings of the day to have been an orchestrated event.

 

The city stable had no reason for being open at that time. There were checks in the dawn and then again at dusk. Feeding them didn’t require opening a single gate, let alone all of them. And this  _ just _ so happens to be on the day that the queen and yet to be coronated king were arriving? It was suspicious.

 

But it was also sloppy. A few of his fellow gold cloaks had said that they’d “interrogated” a few people, and found that a dark-haired, slenderly built man had been seen near the stables for quite some time.

 

It may have been a bit of a stretch to think that that this shorter lad could be him, but if he worded things right, the queens might even offer him-

 

The guard was pulled from his greed fuelled thoughts by the sound of his captive ‘peasant’ retching. A chunky, awful smelling vomit that splashed off of his armor, pieces landing on his cheek and chin.

 

The guard saw red, and a screech came from above. Looking towards it, the guard saw the golden scaled one circling above and smirked.

 

“Ya  _ fuckin’ _ Twit! That’s it, we’ll see how you do in the black cells. And tomorrow, the royal family will decide the fate of their possible kingslayer. I hope the gods shine down on you boy, otherwise, you just might be the first to meet his end by a dragon’s jaw in over a century.”

 

The man in his hands seemed to struggle to stay awake at that point, probably had too much to drink or found some of those odd powders to consume that bled away one’s ability to reason. Once his head slumped down, the guard huffed and threw one arm over his shoulder.  This embarrassment of walking up to the keep would be worth it once the fucker was put on trial in the morning.

 

**-o-**

  
  


The sun rose, and Rhaenys rose with it. She had always been late to wake, but ever since… well, she really preferred not to give that incident a voice. Suffice it to say that her dreams haunted her.

 

Her family had dealt with enough over one generation. A mad king that took to burning people alive, plotting to set wildfire upon the capitol if the whim came to him. Her father carrying off Lyanna with no one the wiser. Or at least that’s what had been spread during the start of the rebellion.

 

It had come to be known later, that Lyanna had sent a letter to her eldest brother and father, one that was shot down and found in an empty room in Winterfell. The scroll destined for Riverrun had never been found.

 

Madness came in many forms, it would seem. Aerys tortured and burned, Viserys schemed and struck. Her father had taken to prophecy. Rhaegar had let it cloud his mind, without anyone even attempting to set him straight.

 

She washed and dressed with no help, other than having the bath brought to her. The solitude, the time to think and ready herself for the day, she had come to appreciate it greatly.

 

Walking through the halls of the keep, she came upon the room that had been Aegon’s not that long ago.  She missed him. He’d inherited some of their mother’s frailty, but it waxed and waned like the moon. His bones would ache on those days, making anything more than a walk painful.

 

It was not lost on her that she was to be married to him on order of their father. Aegon hadn’t agreed. Why else would he name all of his children after Aegon the conqueror and his sister wives?

 

To be frank, the idea had once excited her. Aegon was sweet, smart, and knew that there were some things he would never change. Her habit of trying to undermine the Lannister’s at any given turn being one of them.  Not all Lannister’s mind you, Jaime and Tyrion were the exceptions.

 

The turning point of her affections had come over the course of two years. Aegon hadn’t seen Jon on the last trip, needing to spend it in the capitol learning the ins and outs of council meetings. How to treat with visiting lords and subtle political maneuvers.

 

She had been ten and five, Aegon ten and three, Jon ten and two. It started subtly, but it grew. Aegon had taken to the typical notion that women were to be seen when the men wanted them seen, heard when men said they could be heard. It went without saying that a noble woman’s place of most importance, was in the bedroom. To provide heirs and raise them to their father’s standard.

 

Maybe it was because Aegon was preparing for the day he’d be king. His voice would carry the ultimate weight. But Jon, he never made her feel like her opinion was lesser because she lacked a cock. If she were to put the blame on anything else, it would be Lyanna.  _ No one _ stopped her from doing anything she truly wanted, stopped her from saying what she wanted to say.

 

So while she still loved him just as much as she had previously, the nature of it shifted. Though it made her sad to see her brother being influenced so heavily rather than let him form his own opinions.

 

Still, Aegon would have made for a great king.

 

This was all she allowed herself on the subject as her feet carried her by, not stopping to reminisce any longer. Her mother was not likely to have moved out of her chambers yet, not when Lyanna had been so distraught.

 

As had come to be usual, a good portion of the guards had lingering gazes as she walked by in her light blue dress. What people thought were only whispers had reached long ago. She knew that she was the subject of many admirers. It was part of her tactic to get what she wanted from people, especially a man. Bat your eyes at them with a coy smile, and even a married man would rush to see her request finished.

 

This never ended up with anyone in her bed. Oh no, history was well documented on what  _ could  _ happen if she allowed that. There would be no continuation of the Blackfyre line on  _ her _ account.

A kiss to the cheek perhaps, if the request was of a more urgent nature, but that was all she would ever give them. There had even been a few young women, who she’d ventured strayed that way, which received the same.

 

She never judged them for that. Rhaenys was much of the same mindset as her uncle Oberyn. Pleasure was pleasure. Rhaenys was not sure how her mother would take that if she ever learned.

 

Rhaenys had wondered though if Rhaegar had ever taken both wives to bed at the same time. Surely, for the brief time the three were all here, it had happened. Was her mother particular to only men, or did the beauty of Lyanna Stark set her blood aflame too?

 

As she crossed through the archway to the Great Hall, Rhaenys was both surprised and confused to see that a crowd had already gathered, as though the day's events had begun. Turning her gaze left, she saw the two queens standing by the throne, members of the Kingsguard stationed around them.

 

Only the eyes of Ser Arys Oakheart turned as the heels of her shoes clacked along the pristine floor. She didn’t trust him. His gaze did not linger as long as the others, but the look, the  _ desire _ in those green depths was nothing a kingsguard should direct towards one of those they were sworn to protect.

 

He was, therefore, able to be tainted, manipulated, controlled. She had not seen him give that look to any of the others in her family. Only her. Rhaenys had figured that she must have met a very specific list of qualities to warrant such attention from an otherwise perfect kingsguard.

 

“Your Graces, the city watch took a man into custody late into the night. They believe that he may be responsible for the horses being released.”  Rhaenys paused a moment after hearing that.

 

They had found the perpetrator before finding Jon? What in seven hells was taking so long to find him?

 

Rhaenys saw Lyanna take a deep breath, her lips curling in anger for the briefest of moments before they settled. But those steely eyes did not hide her continued anger. She must have been thinking the same.

 

Lyanna’s attire was not that of the typical lady, and that amused Rhaenys, expecting nothing less from the woman she saw a second mother.

 

A black leather doublet over a gray tunic and black breeches with boots, Lyanna looked more of a warrior than a queen. It almost looked like she going to….

 

Rhaenys’ eyes widened as the apparel started to make more sense than just Lyanna’s disdain for looking pretty just to please the court.

 

She was going to head out and look for Jon herself. With or without a guard, she wasn’t going to be kept idle and waiting in the keep.

 

“Bring him.” Lyanna’s voice, hoarse and full of venom echoed over the pillars.

 

Rhaenys saw Ser Arthur give a well-concealed motion of his hand, waving her to stand beside the throne as well. No doubt it would give a more complete image. The people were probably wondering about how her family was faring at the moment.

 

The king the people loved was dead, and now his missing son, one that hardly anyone knew, was set to replace him. It would do well for the family to be adamantly behind the change.

 

She complied with the unsaid request, trusting the judgment of the man completely. As Rhaenys approached, she could feel the eyes of the gathered on her, they were ignored.

 

The white cloak, billowing slightly in the breeze coming through the opened door, had hidden what laid beside Ser Arthur and Ser Arys. The Direwolves that had come with Jon and Lyanna.

 

Winter and Ghost, as she’d been told last night. Winter stood close to Lyanna, between her and Ser Arys, while Ghost sat between her mother Elia and Ser Arthur. 

 

The man that had stated the actions of the city watch beckoned towards the door to his fellow, who walked away, probably to grab the man they say was the reason Jon ended up missing.

 

It was during this brief period of silence and inaction that it became apparent that everyone  _ but _ Ser Arys had known she was there without looking directly towards her. Her and Lyanna both beckoned her closer, close enough that they could whisper without it looking like they were taking eyes off of the hall.

 

_ “Mother Lya, I hope you aren’t planning on doing what your clothing suggests.”  _ Rhaenys whispered, a tad harshly, but she felt was justified.

 

Lyanna’s eyes spoke nothing but resolve to do what she’d planned.

 

_ “No one is keeping me from looking for my son Rhae. Not you, not Elia, not Barry. Not even the wolves or the dragons.” _

 

Glancing to the wolves, who had picked their heads up as she spoke, Rhaenys still didn’t fully understand what Lyanna had said last night.

 

_ “Jon made them keep me from chasing after him. I know he did.” _

 

How could he have done that? She’d watched as the figure had been carried away by that horse, and the wolves nor the dragons were anywhere close.

 

Ghost chose that moment to move by Lyanna and sit with his body covering her feet. She looked at him as though he understood things as a person would. Sure he was a big wolf, and his eyes peered at you with more intelligence than Rhaenys supposed a normal wolf would… but she wasn’t quite sure she agreed with him being  _ that  _ smart.

 

_ “Would you rather let me go find him, or have me convince Meleys to play with you again?” _

 

Rhaenys  _ almost _ reconsidered her position on his intelligence with the speed he got up and took to sitting behind her.

 

_ “That’s what I thought.” _ Lyanna’s little victory was short lived when the sound armored boots approached. The gold cloaks were obviously quite proud of their accomplishment, even though the primary focus(the  _ only _ focus) had been finding Jon.

  
  


A pair of men entered with freshly shined armor of the guard, the gold gleaming from the sun coming in at an angle that set half the hall alight. In their grasp was a man with a hood over his face for some reason.

 

Ghost stirred from behind her, whimpering and moving to stand beside Lyanna. It was the first sound she’d heard him make. His tail wagging quickly and with force, it swiped against the throne with a thump.

 

Her attention settled on the man with a narrowed glare, if he truly had anything to do with the events of yesterday, she would see him drawn and quartered.

 

From what she could see of his skin, which was only a small part of his neck and his hands thrown over the shoulders of each guard, it was fairer than most people south of the neck.

 

His left hand was bleeding from a cut that ran from the base of his index finger to the wrist just below the base of his thumb. It looked familiar, like the cut Jon had gotten when Aegon had overzealous with their swordplay.

 

Rhaenys saw Lyanna go absolutely still for a moment, right before a cold rigid nature overcame the northern queen.

 

“Ghost. Winter. Pin them.”

 

The wolves growled quietly before they, seemingly happily, obliged with her command.

 

**-o-**

 

Darkness. Sweet, blessed darkness.

 

Wherever he’d been taken, Jon liked the stagnant, damp cold that it offered. It was the colors and sounds he didn’t like.

 

The bronze and the black, the reds and the golds. The screams, the moaning, begging, pleading, choking. He wanted silence, darkness, but he couldn’t take his eyes from what had been happening in front of him. But still, his mind had not yet recovered enough to vocalize his thoughts.

 

The colors made his eyes burn, the sounds made his head feel like he was caught in the worst of undertows.

 

But he wouldn’t look away.

 

Jon captured every piece he could, burned it into his memory no matter how close he came to vomiting again.

 

She was dark of hair, reddened skin from sun exposure, short and slender, wearing homespun clothes of poor quality.

 

Her name hadn’t been spoken. The woman had been dragged down here by a balding man in gold armor more decorated than the others he had managed to glance at.

 

The man spoke seldomly and quietly, his frog-like face shaking as she futilely tried to fight the man off. Jon watched as the man unbuckled himself, his keg belly releasing and relaxing from being unrestrained. Like a ripple through a pond, his belly moved.

 

Her pained, reluctant moans with every thrust, it made Jon’s mind swirl in colors and sounds as they mixed. He wouldn’t look away, he wouldn’t forget.

 

For the North remembers.

 

And this man, whoever he was, would get his due.

 

It hadn’t lasted long, and the man shoved the woman out with some coin as she cried, picking up her clothes with shaky hands and teary eyes.

 

Yes. He would see justice brought to him.

 

Not long after, consciousness left Jon one more. It was a dreamless, colorless, soundless sleep.

 

When he awoke, it was from being covered in chunky water… No, that wasn’t water. It smelled like shit, and more than likely was. Jon opened his eyes slowly, hoping that whatever had been splashed on him didn’t get into his eyes, nose or mouth. He’d wipe it away with his hands, but they too were covered.

 

Looking down, he was correct in doing so. The smell worsened, and he saw the brown chunks of the gruel fed to the prisoners covering his black tunic. The urge to gag was held down to the best of his ability, not that he had anything to push out of his stomach anyway.

 

“Rise and shine Junior Kingslayer! Hows about we go and see the queens and tell them all about your adventure yesterday?”  It was the man from yesterday, sporting shined armor and a grin that wanted to be upbeat but only came across as deviant.

 

Before Jon could do so much as move more than a few inches, still feeling sluggish and generally unwell, the frog-faced man came in and ordered another guard to assist in dragging him to the Great Hall.

 

The hood thrown over his head only made the stench worse, and the feeling of being moved without sight had Jon wanting to vomit. A common theme over the last day.

 

Something was wrong, and it probably came about from that kick to the head.

 

Until he saw a maester, there was nothing he could do about it, as he still was having trouble forming words that corresponded with the proper thought.

 

Not long after, Jon felt warmth. It was a dense sort, like being near the springs in Winterfell, with moisture saturating the air like a wet rag to the forehead. There were voices, whispering, yelling, throwing soft round objects. Young, old, men, women, too varied for Jon to latch on to any of them.

 

The screech above though,  _ that _ he could recognize in a heartbeat.

 

Rhaella. Hers was distinct from the others in its pitch and volume. She’d seen him. Even if she wanted to come near him, she wouldn’t, not with this many people surrounding and no discernable way to make them leave without harming him.

 

“Mistake...Prince…” Muffled words were tried, and still, Jon found himself unable to string together anything coherent. His voice, though quiet, still reached the two carrying him.

 

“Oh yes, you’ve made a grave mistake friend. Though it wasn’t just a  _ Prince _ you set those horses out on. No. It was the soon-to-be  _ King _ .” The new guard answered, his voice young and gleeful, no doubt looking forward to the wrath that the crown would bring down upon their prisoner.

 

Jon continued to try and speak clearly, getting so far as to say “I am…. Prince.” But the words were too far apart for it to seem as though he were declaring himself a Targaryen.

 

If he’d been uninjured, Jon would understand their confusion. No born Targaryen before him spoke with the Northern accent or had his black curly hair. Trueborn he might be, but Jon was an anomaly amongst his family. Rhaenys was the only one without the Valyrian coloring, and even she had  _ some _ markings of it in that silver strand of hair behind her right ear.

 

Jon stumbled, his legs not fully cooperating after the night he’d had. The guard to his left pulled on his arm, the joint of his vambrace cutting an old wound on his hand.

 

The slicing pain gave Jon a little more clarity, and he was thankful for it.

 

Though he couldn’t see, from the incline they were walking, Jon could tell that they were walking up towards the Great Hall.

 

“Jon Targaryen. My name is Jon.” The hood muffled his words, and the guard from last night responded with an armored punch to the gut which had Jon gasping and sending spittle onto the hood and sticking to his face.

 

“Shut it. You’ll be put before the crown soon enough. Save your embarrassment for the court.”

 

While the guards kept silent, the chattering on either side of Jon continued. In some places, it echoed over whatever buildings were near, while in others it made the area seem clogged with people.

 

The steps became steeper, wider, letting his boot fit nicely on its platform without kicking the next as he stepped forward. They were close.

 

Jon could hear the beginnings of his captors haggard breath, out of shape and unfit for the duty of a soldier. The ground leveled out, and Jon was held steady even though he could probably stand on his own now. He supposed that they didn’t want this ‘Chance Kingslayer’ to get away. It was too big of a moment for them.

 

He wondered who was holding court. Jon hadn’t gotten too much information on the persons aboard the ship his father, brother and uncle died on. The minute his mother relayed the information to him, they were packing and setting to travel south.

 

If it were Jon Connington, odds were that the man wouldn’t recognize him. They’d only met twice after he’d left King’s Landing more than 3 years ago. Purely by chance at that. Once on the port where he’d been heading to Dragonstone, and the other on the Kingsroad.

 

The Lord of Griffin’s Roost would sentence him. No questions asked of the guard, Jon was sure of it. The man wasn’t a fan of his mother or himself. Without the coloring of his father, Lord Connington would blindly side with the Gold Cloaks and put him to death.

 

When the guards urged him forward, Jon felt a minute sense of self-preservation. He struggled, trying in vain to pull his arms free to remove the hood from his face at the very least. If he was to meet his end from means such as these, he would look the man in the eye, cursing him to the ends of whatever hell the judge and executioner believed in.

 

A knee to the thigh and an elbow to the ribs were his rewards.

 

The crowd silenced.

 

It felt like an eternity before another voice reached his ears.

 

“Ghost. Winter. Pin them.” A voice he knew as well as his own came to him, and Jon breathed out in relief.  She’d made it. His mother was safe. 

 

When Jon heard the growls, he knew what was coming and steadied himself as he was best able.

 

**-o-**

  
  


Lyanna could not  _ believe  _ what she was seeing.

 

_ Her son _ was being dragged in, covered in shit as though he were the scum of the earth, bleeding from a wound long healed, clearly unable to stand upon his own weight. These  _ guards _ had the nerve to present him as though he’d been caught red-handed at the gates of the stable.

 

No.

 

Unacceptable. She did not like pushing her authority as a queen of the realm often, but this was one such event where she would do so happily. Her pup was hurt, degraded, paraded around as some criminal when he was the victim.

 

Ghost and Winter sprung forth with the same intensity to when they were pouncing for that kill-shot, the bite to the throat.

 

The guards went down with a clang and the air being released from their lungs. Each looked up to a snarling harbinger of death with a heavily weighted paw on their golden chest plate.

 

Dust was kicked into the hall with the sound of beating wings. A reflection of gold at the entry was all she saw before the crowd parted quicker than mice from a cat. Rhaella had been watching, waiting for a chance to get to Jon.

 

Her wings scraped against the stone, her long neck snapping to each side in warning, though none would dare challenge her. The people scampered back as far as they could except for the guards who were still under the pressure of a very angry pair of Direwolves.

 

Ghost declined his head as she approached, Winter barked, before easing off the guards and allowing them the scoot back.

 

The one to Jon’s left went back, a poor choice as it brought him right in the path of a dragon that would let nothing stand in her way of getting to Jon. Her roar let many see the bubbling flame at the back of her throat, before sharp teeth sunk into the golden plate.

 

She didn’t crunch down on him, though Lyanna wouldn’t have minded. Instead, she picked the man up with ease and tossed him aside like a child would a stick, before resting next to Jon.

 

Her son wobbled on his feet from being set free, the hood still on his face. His turn towards Rhaella’s call had him nearly falling over.

 

Jon finally reached for the black hood, Rhaella coming to rest her neck under his arm for support so he could do so without falling.

 

“YOUR GRACE! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” A heavy set man in ornate golden armor came stomping through, pausing when Rhaella turned and hissed at him and Jon pulled himself free from the darkness.

 

She ignored him, looking at the dark circles under Jon’s eyes, the way they bounced left to right, up and down. They never did that. Something was wrong. He looked confused, disoriented.

 

As much as Lyanna wanted to rush to him, now was not the time. Soon. But not now. He had to look strong, able to stand on his own two feet… metaphorically speaking. The realm needed to see that.

 

“Stop… Talking…” Jon mumbled out, one handing going to his temple.

 

“Shut your mouth  _ scum _ . You stand before the crown.”  The ornately decorated man stated, seeming to forget the significance of the dragon under his arm, or that the dragon was there in the first place.

 

Elia cleared her throat from behind, and Lyanna was thankful. She could do nothing regal or royal at the moment, nothing courtly.

 

“Before you stands Jaehaerys  _ ‘Jon’ _ Targaryen.” The heavy set, pompous guard clamped his lips shut as his skin paled and a sheen of sweat appeared in an instant.

 

Lyanna watched as her son eyed the crowd, then to Rhaella, Ghost, Winter.  Finally, his eyes lifted towards the throne they were each standing beside. For no more than 6 seconds, Jon scanned each of the guards. From the gold cloaks like the ones that had dragged him in here to Ser Arys, Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan towards the back wall, Ser Oswell beside him.

 

He stayed on Elia for longer, like he was trying to burn her image into his mind, like he might not ever see it or remember it again. Rhaenys was given a subtle scan from head to toe, though he lingered on her eyes.

 

When he met her gaze, Jon did something strange. His lips quirked so quickly that she thought she’d imagined it, a subtle upward pull that was pulled back down. Like he wanted to smile towards her, but some larger part of his mind thought it to be a poor decision.

 

Why wouldn’t he smile at her? She loved him unconditionally… He was her son.

 

Oh...

 

In the heat of the moment, she’d forgotten the state of their relationship. A cold, distant politeness that she hated, but had brought upon herself.

 

“Third of his name. Within the Fortnight, he shall be the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm.”

 

As Lyanna glared at the fat man disguising himself as a protector of the city, Rhaenys stepped forward, a glare in her copper eyes that she enjoyed seeing. Elia’s eldest had a viper’s tongue when it counted.

 

“And you, Commander Janos, have imprisoned him.  _ My brother _ , who was in fact, the victim of the crime your guards announced he was responsible for. How do you answer to that I wonder?” There was anger and disbelief in her tone, not that Lyanna could blame her.

 

To see Jon so out of sorts was more than just unusual. It was unheard of. The most he’d ever drunk was on his name day of ten and seven, shortly after their night together. Even then, his wits had always been about him.

 

Jon hadn’t so much as looked in her direction. If anything, the ale only aided his ability to snub her. She’d heard it said that alcohol brings out the truth in people. If that were indeed the case, her assessment of her son hating her was the reality she lived in.

 

But then… what was with him nearly smiling at her? 

 

Had she misread him somehow? 

 

It seemed impossible. Few and far between were the times they ever spent apart. As much as she’d hated the thought, Jon had needed to go on the hunt for a band of Wildlings. He needed to experience combat of some sort, rather than sparring or tourneys.

 

“I… I-I… Your grace, I swear I had no knowledge of the prisoner being the Prince… Forgive me, King.” He stammered, correcting himself in the hopes of salvaging whatever was left of his credibility.

 

“Oh? So you did not follow up with the arrests made on the night that your soon-to-be King was missing? Was it lost to you that he may have been injured, a strike to the head from when the horses utilized by your post ran through the streets?” Rhaenys was building towards  _ something. _ Lyanna had never seen her go on like this without that deadly final bite.

 

The commander sweat profusely, stammering and unable to find his words.

 

“I would have to wonder then, what other parts of your job are going unfinished. And whether or not you were fit for the position at all.”

 

Ah, so that was it. Rhaenys had dirt on the man and was just looking for a way to expose and depose him in a way that didn’t make her look like she was grasping for power that many would see as not being within her reach.

 

“Princess I assure you, my duties have always come first! My loyalty to seeing the crowns justice is unwavering!”

 

“Liar.”  Jon hissed through grit teeth. He turned, Rhaella staying in place to hold him up as he did, and faced the man.

 

With a dragon at his back and Ghost coming to his right, the fact that Jon was covered in the excrement of the capitols criminals was  _ nearly  _ forgotten. He struck a fearsome image.

 

“Rapist.” Thought he didn’t seem quite capable of full thought just yet. She whispered to Ser Arys to go and fetch a Maester to meet him at his chambers, who nodded and left immediately.

 

“It seems the king disagrees with your statement  _ commander _ . And as the king, he has the final say.” With a nod and gesture towards the guards closest to her, Rhaenys set Slynt’s own men upon him.

 

As expected, he bellowed, pleading innocence and mercy towards the royal family as he was carried away.

 

“I understand that you all wish to be heard, but the king needs rest. Queen Lyanna and I will hear you tomorrow.” Elia spoke with a finality born from having been in the capitol so long, and of being born into the ruling family of Dorne.

 

She and Elia watched as the crowd was escorted out. What surprised her was the lack of argument from the people.

 

By the time the last of them was led through the entry, Lyanna was confused to see that Rhaella had left without her noticing.

 

As a matter of fact, so were Jon and Rhaenys.

 

But when Elia turned on her, that was all forgotten.

 

Copper eyes bore into her with intensity. Lyanna knew then, that Elia had noticed how Jon looked at her too. She would escape this conversation for now… but her excuses wouldn’t last forever. Lyanna would have to confess eventually, and she knew Elia was a patient woman.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
